


Dream

by Hectrex



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: 31 Days of Apex (Apex Legends), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25445542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hectrex/pseuds/Hectrex
Summary: 31 Days of Apex - Day 22 - Dream: Mirage accidentally takes one of Octane's Stims, passes out, and has a completely normal dream, I swear.
Kudos: 14





	Dream

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Big shoutouts to @TRlICKSTER and @hoxdolum whose awesome art inspired a couple scenes in this one. Check them out on Twitter and show them your support! (Also, please let me know if my Spanish needs work. I want Octane to be written correctly.)

"Could you put your prosthetics on a different seat, Mr. Silva? They reek of perspiration," requested Caustic.

"Oh, _lo siento, doctor_. It's been a long day and my legs were starting to chafe," Octane replied as he moved his mechanical legs underneath his stool at the bar.

The Paradise Lounge was usually quiet at this time of day, and, as such, a smooth, relaxing space jazz was playing. Next to Octane, Wraith was sipping a cocktail with her eyes closed, taking in a moment of relaxation. As Mirage walked up, he handed the daredevil his usual order: two parts rum, three parts Himuvian Nectar, and a drop of paralytic venom from the Dionysian sleeping squid.

Octane took a long sip and sighed, "That hits the spot! Nothing like a cold drink after a full day of testing!"

Caustic knew it was too good to be true, but his curiosity made him ask: "And what particular hypothesis were you testing?"

"If it was easier to outrun a train while riding a prowler."

"Ah," Caustic thought, "the Leroy Jenkins school of study. I should have known."

Octane then flipped out his knife and began twirling and fidgeting it, as he was oft to do when forced to be stationary. The speedster wasn't trying to be impressive, but Mirage couldn't stop looking as the blade flitted in and out of its handle, the green Stim liquid inside washing back and forth as it reflected the blacklights and prisms of the lounge.

Mirage couldn't resist as he asked, "Can I give that thing a go?"

"¿ _Estas seguro, hombre_? The blade's pretty sharp."

"Don't worry about me. Ole Mirage has gotten his fair share of cuts and bruises," replied the barkeep, pointing to a scar on his face, "Besides, Lifeline can fix me up if it's too bad."

Wraith corrected him, "One: she's out running errands for the upcoming cookout and Two: she's still mad at you for stealing D.O.C. to use as a stepping stool. If you get hurt, she sure isn't going to fix you."

In spite of this, Mirage started clumsily flipping the knife around in his hands, all while replying, "Hey, if she had come in a few seconds later, she never would have known. Besides, D.O.C. wasn't hur-"

_*thip*_

At the sound, Caustic, Octane, and Wraith looked over the bar to see the knife, needle side down, sticking into Mirage's foot. The Stim liquid slowly drained into Mirage's bloodstream, and he froze.

Octane put on his legs and backed away a few paces: " _Amigos_ , you may want to step back. The first time's a little… problematic."

Mirage shuddered, calmly finished Octane's drink, and then changed the music to something intensely upbeat. He created a conga line of decoys who all quickly dispersed and started dancing on the bar. Mirage was mixing drinks like mad, adding together everything from Caustic's salted coffee to oil used on Pathfinder's joints. The barkeep put it all in a mug and stared at it as his head bounced back and forth.

Wraith attempted to calm him down: "Elliot, maybe we should get you to an infirmary, just until this passes over."

In Mirage's mind, every neuron had become unlocked, and suddenly he could see the words clearly. His accelerated state made this message rapidly stream from his thoughts:

"Overexertion is met with coercion and my head is spinning aloft.

My veins are imbued, my consciousness spewed, a virus from contagious cough.

I'm in it to win it, within this beginneth transcendence of my fire lit.

You'll always aspire to my fame with ire, but you'll never match my Witt."

Which would have been impressive, except his mouth completely forgot the consonants, so what everyone else heard was:

"OEEEIOIEIOEIOAYEAIIIAO.

YEIAIUEYOIOUEUEAIUOOAIOUOU.

IIIOIIIIIEIEAEEOYII.

OUAAAIOYAIIUOUEEAYI."

He then promptly fell over and passed out.

Mirage awoke on the upper levels of the Hammond Harvester on Talos, his head spinning worse than Octane's knife. The usual mix of sounds could be heard from the machinery, but there was something else that was different to him. He walked a ways down one of the ramps and peered up at the top of the Harvester, which was replaced with an enormous version of Gibraltar's face. It periodically opened its mouth, shouting "BRUDDAH" as it released an energy beam into the sky.

Mirage registered this and said, "Nope."

As he headed back up the ramp, the trickster reasoned with himself, "So, is this a dream or a hallucination? I mean, none of it's real ( _I hope it isn't real, I don't want to know where the other giant parts of Gibraltar are_ ). But could I be hallucinating? Nah, I can't be, because I was just in the lounge on Solace, so there's no way I would have made it here on my own. Unless the lounge was a dream, and now this is a hallucination. Maybe if I jump in the lava I'll wake up. But if it _isn't_ a dream, then I'll just get incentiv… incineroll… burned alive."

Mirage was unable to continue this line of questioning as a red and gray cat ran by him, closely chased after by a dog wearing Mirage's scarf and goggles. This was all well and good until the cat screamed in a mechanical voice, "I'll eat your soul and use your memories as a litter box!"

Once more, with feeling, "Nope."

Heading in a different direction, Mirage passed by a diminutive version of Wattson with large eyes, sitting on top of a crate. The smart move would have been to keep walking. Mirage was not known for smart moves, so he addressed the tiny engineer.

"Hey there, cutie. Could you help me find an infirmary, or maybe some kind of therapist or priest?"

With a mischievous look on her face, the miniature Wattson took out two of her pylons, electrified them, then wielded them as nunchuks. She hopped off the crate, swung the pylons, and let out a screech of pure static. Mirage ran while being repeatedly whipped by the electricity until he barricaded himself behind some nearby doors. True to form, the gremlin began building a web of fences that would surely make life worse for Mirage if he decided to go back.

Mirage stuck his tongue out at the mini-Wattson then turned around and saw… doors. So. Many. Doors. He'd seen this before. He knew how this played out. The hallway went on forever, and there was definitely no going back. Rather than beat around the bush, he opened the first door on his left, sent in a decoy, and closed the door again.

Putting his ear to the door, Mirage expected screams of terror and the sound of machinery. Instead, what he heard was muffled laughter from an audience. He opened the door a crack and spied on his decoy being subjected to a vast iron maiden of pointing fingers, all of them laughing and mocking. Mirage's decoy was also laughing, but out of nervousness, just trying to fit in. Trying to laugh along with them. Trying to make it seem normal.

Mirage quickly closed the door, took a deep breath, and went for another one. As soon as this door was cracked slightly, it flew open and pulled him inside. Mirage found himself seated at a large, round table with all of the other legends. In the center of the table appeared a ship in a bottle, pointing at no one in particular. The other legends were all uneasy, as it was Revenant's turn to spin. The simulacrum twisted the antique and everyone watched as it slowly spun until the ship and bottle landed on Mirage. Sighs of relief whispered around the table.

Revenant looked at Mirage and said, "All right. I'm treating you tonight, skinbag. Meet me at the lounge at 7 or I'll kill you and have to date your corpse."

Mirage didn't know exactly what was going on, but he knew he didn't want to go out with the murderous simulacrum: "Oh, uh, I have a thing I have to, y'know, go to already..."

What was a good excuse? Mirage panicked and blurted out, "I have a colonoscopy, actually."

I said a _good_ excuse.

"I can help with that," said Revenant.

"Dear gods," sighed Bloodhound as they put their head in their hands, "he made it worse."

Believing that he was now firmly in "dream" territory, Mirage decided to make himself invisible, sneak out of the room, and trust that no commitment had to be upheld. From there, the man walked down the corridor for what felt like hours. It seemed like the right thing to do, until he found one door that stood out. It was familiar, but in a way that seemed banal, like the end of your nose, something you knew existed but didn't really think about.

Elliot walked through the door, paying no attention to the inky void within, and softly fell down into a chair at a kitchen table. In the other chairs were three men dressed like Mirage, all of them bantering and requesting plates of food from the table. At first, Elliot thought they were some of his decoys, but as his vision became clearer, it turned out they were his brothers. People had always said they looked a lot alike, the Witt boys. Almost like clones of one another, and when they had all finished their growth spurts, their hair styles were the only real difference.

It was so good to see them again.

From behind, Elliot was hugged by his mother. Her voice sweetly spoke in his ear, "I saw your match from last week. I think your decoys could use some tuning. When they run up hills, they sometimes fade into the ground a little."

She placed a porkchop onto Elliot's plate and took the remaining seat. Now this… this was home.

Mike chimed in, "You've had some great aim, though, little bro. Those Wingman shots are no joke."

Ralph wasn't convinced, "Let's go to the range later and see how good he really is. I'll give him a run for his money."

Gerry elbowed Ralph and said, "Knowing him, he'll probably fill your gun with peanut butter."

Elliot protested, "That was one time! I've gotten much more honorable since then."

They all laughed and dined for a stunted eternity. It was so good to see them again.

But Mirage had to wake up, had to say goodbye, just like every other night.

Mirage's eyes opened and, as the watercolors gained sharpness, he saw Octane and Lifeline standing over him. He could hear D.O.C. pumping a recovery serum into his bloodstream, washing out the potent Stim liquid from his body.

"There he is," Lifeline announced, "Don't move just yet. Yuh gonna be stiff for a few hours."

"Props to you, _amigo_ ," lauded Octane, "You stayed awake a lot longer than most people do their first time."

"Jus' be glad I got 'ere as soon as I did," scolded Lifeline, "If I hadn't, yuh could've been passed out a lot longer."

"Yeah," said Mirage, "I guess I could have."


End file.
